


Reel Genius

by panisdead



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/F, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panisdead/pseuds/panisdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jennifer is undressing in Teyla's room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reel Genius

**Author's Note:**

> Begun for kink_bingo 2008, completed for the 2012 sga_saturday prompt #45: splash. Thanks to Runpunkrun and Umbo for beta.

Jennifer is undressing in Teyla's room. It's unusual. They almost always meet in Jennifer's room, because Jennifer is less sexually experienced than Teyla and therefore requires coddling and familiar surroundings to reassure her when she's naked. 

Okay, Teyla never says that. Teyla never even implies anything of the sort, but that means Jennifer's fucking a diplomat, not that she's stupid. There's always a reason why the two of them end up between Jennifer's polka dot Pottery Barn sheets. It never seems trumped up at the time, either, and it was only a function of Jennifer's relationship insecurity that she noticed at all.

It doesn't seem fair. Once you've made someone come, you should be able to relax around them. 

So tonight she's in Teyla's room, and she has a plan. Her plan even has props. She is a mastermind of sexual ingenuity. Teyla will love it, Teyla will be impressed, Teyla will give Jennifer the dreaded _eyebrow_ , or smile at her encouragingly and make a tactful suggestion of ways they could adjust their positions to enhance Jennifer's pleasure, oh _god_ this is going to crash and burn. 

Okay, no. Teyla is far too self-actualized for pity dating. If she didn't want to sleep with Jennifer, if she wasn't getting something out of it, she wouldn't be here. That strength, that assurance was one of the things Jennifer liked about Teyla. It was just hard sometimes, knowing that both of you knew which one in the relationship was the fixer-upper.

But here she is, and here Teyla is, and it’s show time. Jennifer takes a breath, and launches into her pitch. 

Of course she says too much. "…and I saw this movie once called _The Pillow Book_ , with Ewan McGregor, he's so hot and always willing to take his pants off, which is really unusual in American cinema so you always pay attention whenever it happens, right? Although maybe you haven't seen enough American movies to appreciate just how unusual, we should really watch--anyway." Her hands are shaking. Teyla is watching her, eyes soft. "I thought maybe you could just--sit. And let me try something." 

"Should I undress?" Teyla asks calmly. No hesitation. No fear. 

Jennifer doesn't want to be envious, but she is, a little. "You should," she says, trying for playful. "Make yourself comfortable." Like Teyla's ever off balance. 

Teyla strips without fanfare and sits where Jennifer motions her, in the sheet-draped desk chair against the far wall. In an attempt at sensuality Jennifer had pulled the curtains and lit candles earlier while Teyla watched, and to her surprise the effect works. With the light from the bathroom dimmed, the room is full of soft shadows and patches of warm color. Teyla in the chair is relaxed, curious but patient. Her hands rest in the shadow of her lap. 

Jennifer kneels at her feet, naked, and opens the bag. 

"So this movie," she says. "It was--well, honestly it was kind of macabre, but it was also about emotion and how it's embodied." 

Jennifer rests the paintbrush across her bent knees and carefully unscrews the lid of the jar. "The movie was also about lovers from different cultures." 

She dips the brush in paint and kneels up, raising the tip to Teyla's cheek. "And sex." She paints a quick line from the outside corner of Teyla's eye to the corner of her mouth, then another, fuller curve back to the starting point. She pulls back to check her work and sees a clumsy sickle moon and Teyla watching her with narrowed eyes. 

"Oh!" Jennifer blurts, flustered, then embarrassed by her haste to reassure. "Oh no no no, don't worry, it's all completely non-toxic! It's water-based, in fact it's, um, kiddie finger paint, see?" She holds up the jar with its bright sky blue contents, traded for a handful of blow-pops on a routine medical visit. "I was worried about stains." 

"That was kind of you," Teyla say, and she isn't _worried_ , she's _trying not to laugh_.

"Oh my god, will you shut up?" Jennifer whines, dropping the brush to slap at Teyla's thighs in annoyance. "I'm taking a risk here, would it kill you to play along?" 

Teyla shakes with laughter, slumped against the arm of the chair. "It might," she chuckles, meeting Jennifer's eyes ruefully. "You were so very earnest," and then she must see Jennifer's face fall, must see the way her words sting. "Do not," she says, wrapping her legs around Jennifer's waist to reel her in. "Jennifer, do not." 

Jennifer lets herself shuffle forward on her knees until she's held within the vee of Teyla's thighs. She loops her arms around Teyla's neck and tips her forehead against Teyla's with a sigh, feeling ridiculous. "This was a stupid idea," she says. "I should have just gone with liquor and dirty movies." 

From this close she can see all the little muscles of Teyla's eyes twitch in exasperation when she rolls them. "You _should_ have told me this was important to you," Teyla says, knocking her heels against the small of Jennifer's back, not gently. "And then I could have told you that you do not need to prove yourself to me, and we could have gone ahead with your non-toxic painting without quite so much effort." 

And this, this is pretty much a textbook example of what Jennifer was trying to avoid, this thing where Teyla comforts her like she's Torren or Rodney or somebody and not like an equal partner in an adult relationship, but damn if it doesn't make her feel better. "I do need to," she says, trying not to pout. "You're so good at everything, including sex. Sometimes it gets to be a little much." 

Teyla pulls back and cocks her head, staring at Jennifer intently. Her expression is perfectly neutral, accepting, nonjudgmental, all those other words that on a bad day make Jennifer feel like she's fucking her therapist. Teyla's not going to apologize for being who she is, and Jennifer--mostly--doesn't want her to. Ten to one says she is about to give Jennifer an out, though. 

"Fine," Teyla says, draping her arms over the back of the chair and leaning back. "Prove yourself." 

There are some perks to fucking a diplomat. 

"I don't need your permission," Jennifer says with left-over petulance, but she's smirking even as she darts forward and twists Teyla's nipple, hard. Teyla gasps and smacks her arm, mock furious, but she also digs her heels in and rubs her hips against Jennifer's stomach, leaving a little wet circle just beneath her belly button. 

"Okay, okay," Jennifer says. "I'm getting there."

She starts over with Teyla's other cheek. She paints a little triangle of smudgy stars over the cheekbone, for the first time Teyla kissed her (on the balcony, at night). Thin horizontal lines across Teyla's forehead are for the balcony railings, because Jennifer's never been an artist or all that great with symbolism, and having Teyla's naked body as a canvas doesn't magically make her so now. She likes being this close to Teyla, though. Likes feeling Teyla's breath on her face, likes knowing she's watching Jennifer with her full attention, knowing she's holding still for her. 

Jennifer paints the outer shells of Teyla's ears with wet, gentle strokes, smirking at Teyla when her breath speeds up. She leans in and kisses right beneath the lobe, dabs paint after. "You look like a Smurf," she breathes in her best ultra-sexy Marlene Dietrich voice and gets another slap for it. Teyla probably doesn’t know what a Smurf is, but mocking transcends culture. 

She works her way across Teyla's collarbone in slow strokes, drawing waves, curlicues, dots, whatever she can think of that keeps the brush wet and soft and moving. It becomes a game: what makes Teyla move against her, what makes her arch and squeeze her knees against Jennifer's thighs in frustration. She learns quickly that medial is more arousing than distal--a line down the underside of Teyla's bicep to her elbow makes her smile and soften into the chair, relaxed and sleepy, while a series of dashes from the top of her shoulder to the notch of her clavicle makes her nipples tighten right up. 

It's too good of an opportunity to pass up, but by now Jennifer's enjoying the tease and she doesn't want to take the obvious detour. Instead she dips the brush and dabs paint on her thumb, turning it bright blue. Even such a small touch feels surprisingly good--wet and gentle and just this side of ticklish. She switches hands and paints the other thumb, squeezing her thighs together. 

When she looks up, Teyla's watching her. Her eyes are huge and blown dark, belying her calm, contained expression. Jennifer didn't start this with the intention to beat Teyla at anything, but she's still glad that for once she seems to be winning.

"You're hot like this," she tells Teyla, a little smugly. 

"Should I thank you?" Teyla asks. "It is your doing," she says with a rueful little smirk at her blue shoulders. 

Jennifer spreads her hands wide to frame Teyla's ribcage, then strokes her wet thumbs over the sensitive undersides of Teyla's breasts.

"Yeah," she says, grinning at the way Teyla arches into her hands. Teyla has amazing breasts, full and soft and heavy. "It sure is my doing." She strokes up and over Teyla's nipples, slows down and circles. "And you like it." 

She feels cheeky and daring, taking control like this, and it's both a rush and a little scary at the same time. Teyla wouldn't burst her bubble on purpose, of course, wouldn't mean to embarrass Jennifer or imply she was sexually naive or inadequate or anything so hurtful, but sometimes she just doesn't get what it's like not to be confident. Not to be certain. 

It sucks, mostly. Jennifer's slept with a couple of women before Teyla, but she was drunk off her ass in a dorm room in another galaxy at the time. She's making this up as she goes along, just like everything else she does in Pegasus. Sometimes she gets it wrong. 

She's getting it right now, though, judging by the way Teyla's head has fallen to the side as she pushes into Jennifer's hands. Her eyes are closed and the way her brow is furrowed would look pained if she wasn't smudged all over with blue. When Jennifer brings her fingers up to pinch her nipples again, Teyla bites her lip, and that's--wow. She's getting it right. She doesn't know which is hotter. 

"I do," Teyla says breathlessly. 

Jennifer's so focused on what her hands are doing she doesn't understand at first. 

"I do like it," Teyla says. "What you're doing to me." Under the paint, she's flushed and dewy and gorgeous. 

Jennifer leans forward and kisses her, fast, flushing herself. "That's great," she says inanely. She takes a deep breath and rocks her hips a little, using the rush of pleasure to get her sense of control back. She's a sex prodigy, she's brilliant, oh god, wait, she's got paint in her mouth. 

She brings her hand up and tries to casually brush it across her lips, but that just makes the paint smear. It's bitter, _ew ew ew_ , probably some sort of plant alkaloid, and Jennifer runs likely formulae in her head even as she gives up her attempt to look sexy and competent and reaches for the tissues while Teyla shakes with laughter.

"Can we just rewind the last couple of minutes and forget that that ever happened?" Jennifer whines, wiping her mouth. She's disappointed to have broken the mood, but, well. It is funny.

"Was this problem not addressed in your movie?" Teyla asks. She looks like she's trying to pull off deadpan or arch, but she can't keep her smirk in check. 

"Oh, you mean was there a scene where Ewan McGregor gets a big mouthful of paint and then coughs up a lung? Oh, yeah, it was _sexy_ ," Jennifer says, rolling her eyes.

Teyla puts a hand on the side of her neck, right where it meets her shoulder. She rubs her thumb up and down the line of Jennifer's jugular. "The next time we have a free night, you should choose a movie for us to watch," she says, holding Jennifer's eyes. "And bring liquor. And we will watch the movie and drink together, and when we are tired of that I will hold you open and tease you until you scream for me." 

She sweeps her thumb up and down, a light, repetitive, teasing movement, and Jennifer sees the scene play out like it's projected on the inside of her eyelids. Herself on her back on the bed, or on the couch with her legs splayed, or kneeling on the rug straddling Teyla's chest. On the desk. Spread over the coffee table. On the bathroom counter with the mirror cold between her shoulder blades. In every shot she's open-mouthed, gasping, eyes squeezed shut or staring blankly ahead, yelling, crying out, coming again and again. 

She hasn't been there, quite, with Teyla, however good the sex has been up to this point. She hasn't been quite that uninhibited, that ready to take what she wants from Teyla. She thinks she could, now.

"Okay," Jennifer says, swallowing. Her throat's gone dry.

A moment passes. 

"Any time you would like to resume," Teyla says impishly. 

Jennifer drags herself back into the present. She picks up her brush, hesitates, and impulsively scoops up a handful of paint instead. She flips her cupped palm over onto Teyla's stomach with a wet _splop_ and paints her blue from groin up to her collarbone in one swift stroke. Teyla shouts and writhes with laughter. Jennifer gets both hands on her and goes a little crazy, covering Teyla's entire torso in streaky blue. She wanted erotic but she doesn't have patience for that right now. Teyla's chest is heaving and she's laughing and rubbing her hips against Jennifer in jerky little movements. Right now Jennifer wants to _fuck_. 

She grabs Teyla's legs and pulls them apart, slapping her soft inner thigh just to leave a handprint. It looks good there. The movie reel in her head starts rolling again, this time showing her Teyla spread out over the desk, Teyla wrapped in a thick fur rug, wearing a geisha outfit, wearing silk stockings with thick black seams over the calves, naked except for Jennifer's Red Sox baby tee, buttoned into a lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck. Teyla would look good on film. 

Jennifer put hardly any force into her swing, but Teyla shudders anyway, so she does it again, and then again once more, leaving blue fingerprints across the long muscles of Teyla's thighs. They're nothing more than light swats, but it still feels dangerous and unprecedented. She's not sure she wants to get into anything heavier without a nice safe discussion first, even though Teyla’s giving every indication of perfect acquiescence.

More paint, and Jennifer palms circles over the undersides of Teyla's thighs, crooks her fingers and draws wavy lines from the join of her hip to her knees. She's lost what little thematic content she started with, and she doesn't care. Every time Teyla moves against her Jennifer clenches her thighs together in response, and it's nowhere near enough to get her off but it's still a coiling pleasure low in her belly. 

She pulls back and strokes the backs of her knuckles over Teyla's mons and further down. Teyla breathes in sharply and grips the arms of the chair. 

"Yeah?" Jennifer says. She does it again. 

" _Yes_ ," Teyla says impatiently. Her hands clench and release on the chair. Jennifer wishes she had a video camera. 

She strokes again, lightly, then spreads her fingers over Teyla's pubic bone so she can rub her thumbs over Teyla's inner labia. She presses in and slides her thumbs back and forth in opposite directions to shift the hood of skin side to side over Teyla's clit. It's hypnotic, watching the tiny shifting movements and the way the blood begins to pulse under the thinnest of skin. Jennifer could name all the arteries and veins and nerves involved, and Teyla might even like to hear about it sometime when she isn't squirming and moaning and pushing her hips up into Jennifer's hands.

She's never seen Teyla quite like this before, so ready to let Jennifer have her way with her, to prove herself, and that thought reminds her of where she is and what she's doing. Once she's had the thought, she can't help herself--she takes the wet paintbrush and slides it gently over Teyla's clit. Down first one side, then the other, then swirling, the way she'd use her tongue if she were showing off for the camera. 

Teyla cries out, startled, and her whole body curls up toward Jennifer, bending forward in the chair. She stares at Jennifer, wide-eyed. Jennifer holds her gaze, challenging, and then flicks the brush again. Teyla writhes in the chair, and then smiles, slow and incredulous, shaking her head with mirth. 

" _You_ ," she says, between gasps. "I did not think you would--" she breaks off on a moan. 

Jennifer feels wild, on fire, powerful. She's the Dalai Lama of sex. Every movement rubs her labia together, where she's slick and swollen and sensitive. "Well, I did," she says. She's running this show. "I want you to--can you come like this?"

"No," Teyla says. She sounds desperate. It's amazing. 

"Oh god," Jennifer says, momentarily thrown. "I can't go down on you, the paint tastes awful!"

Teyla sits up straight and pulls the brush from her hand. "Luckily you are not the only one with imagination," she says, and shoves Jennifer over onto her back and climbs on top of her. 

Things get disjointed after that—Jennifer knows she’s bucking and twisting under Teyla, skin slick with paint, rubbing against her any way she can. It’s uncoordinated and ungraceful and _hot_ , fighting in vain for dominance when she’s no match for Teyla in a contest of strength.

There’s a clatter in the background and Jennifer sees the paintbrush spinning away across the floor, leaving splotches of blue on the tile, then Teyla bends her almost in half, pushing her knees toward her ears and upending the paint jar over Jennifer’s exposed crotch. 

It’s cold and slippery and shocking against her hot skin, and she’s gasping and shaking as Teyla wraps a leg around her in some kind of wrestling move and grinds down against her, and then Jennifer’s coming before she can help herself.

She can hear herself making high, breathy noises, but drowning her out is Teyla, shoving against her and crying out, loud and uncontrolled like Jennifer’s never heard her before, and that’s what sets her off again.

When it’s over, they lie side-by-side on the rumpled sheet, Teyla still half-draped across Jennifer where she landed when she toppled over. Jennifer stares up at the ceiling, breathing hard, buzzing with adrenaline. It worked. She can’t believe it, her idea _worked_. 

She grins and flops a hand over to pat clumsily at whatever part of Teyla she can reach. Her palm is streaked blue and getting tacky as the paint dries. 

“That was pretty good, wasn’t it,” she says goofily. 

Teyla rolls to a sitting position and leans over her. Her hair is matted with paint and stands out crazily from her head. She smiles down at Jennifer, somehow satiated and predatory at the same time. “That was _amazing_. You have excellent ideas.”

“Mmm, I know,” Jennifer says smugly. She should win awards. A sex Oscar, maybe. She slides a hand around the back of Teyla’s neck and tugs a little. “Come down here and kiss me for being so smart.” 

Teyla leans forward, then hesitates, a sheepish expression on her face. “I would very much like to,” she says, “but I hope you will not think less of me if I shower first? I am—starting to itch.” 

Jennifer laughs, a startled belly laugh, and sits up. “It’s awful, isn’t it,” she says, giving Teyla a careful, close-mouthed peck. “I think I’ve got paint in my ears.” 

“And all over the room,” Teyla says ruefully, standing and pulling Jennifer to her feet. “I’m afraid I was a bit careless.” 

Jennifer stares. Besides the drying smears on the floor where the sheet rucked up under them, there’s a spreading puddle under the chair and blue splashes on the surrounding areas where someone slapped a hand into the mess. There’s paint on the desk, on the chair, on the wall. 

Jennifer covers her face and groans. Next to her, Teyla laughs. 

“We will shower, and then you will help me clean. That sounds like a good idea, does it not?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jennifer sighs. Then she grins at Teyla and leans in to kiss her carefully again. “But mine was better.” 

END


End file.
